The Third Caliph

by Alex Archer

  Several campfires lit up the site. Bedouin warriors sat hunkered around the fires or near tents. A makeshift corral lay to the east where the horses grazed on grass and leaves. The men went armed.

  Annja made herself breathe slowly as she gazed around the camp. After a moment, she spotted David Smythe sitting just inside a lean-to against one of the foothills. He sat leaning forward, his hands bound behind his back. He looked worse for wear, haggard, his clothing disheveled. Bruising stained one side of his face, and the deep purple coloring told Annja the injury was fresh.

  MacKenzie touched her arm, drawing her attention. He pointed at one of the other tents. Annja trained her binoculars there and saw the woman inside. Theresa Templeton. A moment later, she spotted other students from the dig. Annja let out a breath, realizing then that the Bedouin would have kept the women segregated from the men.

  She worried about Cory Burcell and Souad and Nadim. Smythe and Templeton would have been seen as worth ransoming. Burcell was black and might not immediately have been recognized as American or European even with his accent.

  Smythe was talking to someone inside the tent. A moment later, a Bedouin warrior pulled the tent flap back and went in with a pot and a handful of bowls. During that brief moment, Annja caught sight of Cory and Souad and several other members of the dig team.

  “Are they all there?”

  Annja lowered the binoculars. “It looks like it.”

  “Then you got lucky. The Bedouins must have taken quite a few supplies from your dig site. That’s the only way they could have supported this many hostages.”

  That thought sent a shiver through Annja even though she’d been thinking it herself. She also couldn’t help wondering how many times MacKenzie had found himself in similar situations regarding people he might have taken on operations.

  She decided she didn’t want to know.

  Yahya lay on the ground beside MacKenzie. The younger man was quietly counting to himself as he surveyed the camp.

  “How many Bedouin?” MacKenzie adjusted the focus on his binoculars, rolling the wheel with his forefinger.

  Yahya answered immediately. “Thirty-one.”

  Annja tracked the men. “I count twenty-nine.”

  MacKenzie smiled. “I count twenty-nine, as well. Very good, Annja.”

  Yahya scowled and spat a curse. “Some of them are always moving.”

  “Yes, they are.” Retreating on his hands and knees, MacKenzie climbed back from the ridge. He put his binoculars back in his chest pack.

  Annja followed him, trailed by Yahya.

  MacKenzie sat still for a moment. “We have our work cut out for us.”

  “Outnumbered almost three to one?” Annja nodded.

  “Three to one doesn’t bother me.” MacKenzie trailed fingers over his stubbled chin as he thought. “We have surprise on our side. For a little while. We can cut down the odds with that. The problem remains whether they decide to fight us or kill their hostages.”

  Annja totally understood what MacKenzie was saying. “We don’t have a choice. We can’t leave them here.”

  MacKenzie took a deep breath and let it out. “All right. Then let’s get to this.” He stood and called his team over.

  Curtain Bar

  K Street

  Washington, D.C.

  THE BAR HAD A FULLY EQUIPPED op room in the basement. Hendricks knew he should have expected that, but he was still surprised. He supposed he should have been more surprised that Sophie had showed it to him.

  The latest computer equipment filled the room, leaving little space for the casual observer, though Hendricks was certain nothing casual ever took place in that room. Two people, both young, one male and one female, sat in front of an array of monitors. Their hands darted back and forth across their touch screens, gesturing to pull up files rather than typing things in.

  The images cycled very quickly, showing exploded views of a desertscape at night as well as views from high overhead. Human forms glowed on the main screen that filled one whole wall. There were two groups, and the illuminated forms stood revealed in red and blue. Hendricks quickly deduced that Annja Creed and Rafe MacKenzie’s group ringed the Bedouin camp.

  As he watched, a man inside a lean-to was suddenly limned in yellow. Immediately following, a rectangular space popped open on another screen and quickly filled in with a head-and-shoulder shot of a guy who looked worn to the bone. Beside that rectangle, another opened up and hundreds of photos started cycling through. An instant later, the image froze, producing one that looked a lot like the captured image from the Bedouin camp. Data scrolled underneath the picture.

  The female tech spoke up as she continued to gesture at the computer console. “I have one of the dig team identified.”

  “Ping them separately. We want to keep track of everyone there.” Sophie sat beside Hendricks at a small observation area in the back of the room. As always, she looked stylish and elegant. Her attention was divided between the operation in the room and the tablet computer in her hands.

  Hendricks glanced at her. “Who is that?”

  Sophie flicked a finger at her tablet. An instant later, an image floated onto the computer monitor set in the table in front of him.

  Hendricks studied Professor David Smythe in both pictures. “At least he’s still alive.”

  “Yes.”

  “What about Thabit?”

  Sophie tapped her tablet again and an image of the camp and the surrounding countryside opened up.

  “No one followed Creed or MacKenzie out of Marrakech.” The soft light from her tablet glinted in her eyes. “The man isn’t as interested in your archaeologist as you believed he was.”

  Hendricks shook his head. “That can’t be. Thabit’s communiqués about Annja Creed were very detailed.”

  “He could have been baiting you.”

  “Why?” Hendricks waved a hand at the screens at the other end of the room. “I don’t have an investment in this mission other than to reach Thabit.”

  Sophie pulled a lock of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know. If I’d had more time to properly plan this, I might have found another angle we could have played.”

  “No.” Hendricks glared at the screen and kept seeing the ambush over and over again in his mind. “This is the only thing we’ve had on Thabit in years. The man is a ghost. We only see him after he’s struck, or when he wants us to.”

  Sophie looked up from the tablet. “What do you want me to do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “MacKenzie might not represent much to the CIA these days, but when things turn bloody, he’s one of my top operators. I don’t want to lose him on a wild-goose chase. I could scrub this before we lose anyone.”

  Hendricks looked back at the haggard faces of the archaeologists. “And just leave these people to their fates?”

  “They might catch a bullet during the ensuing confrontation, anyway. There are no guarantees how this will turn out.” Sophie paused. “I’m not running a charity here. If we proceed, this will still count toward that favor I owe you.”

  For a moment, Hendricks didn’t respond. He didn’t want to lose the chance at taking Thabit down. But leaving those people to their fates wasn’t an option. “Let’s go.”

  Sophie smiled. “I’m glad you said that. I’m still willing to pursue Thabit another way if you can come up with one. I don’t mind having a high-profile agent in the CIA owe me one.”

  If he did end up owing her, he wouldn’t be the only CIA agent who did.

  She tapped the earwig she wore. “Dove, your operation is cleared. Begin extraction.” She glanced back at Hendricks. “This should be entertaining.”

  Hendricks tried to ease some of the pain in his stomach by stretching, but it was nerves and the pain wouldn’t go away u
ntil the action brewing in the Atlas Mountains was resolved. Silently, he watched as Rafe MacKenzie and his men crept in. He’d lost track of which of the red figures was Annja Creed.

  Chapter 24

  North of Marrakech

  Atlas Mountains

  Kingdom of Morocco

  Two snipers remained at the ridgeline, each armed with heavy-caliber Barrett rifles capable of shooting holes in cinder-block walls and armored vehicles. The rest of the mercenaries advanced with MacKenzie. They followed the incline of the hill and stayed behind boulders and scrub grass as much as they could. The proximity of the campfires would dull the Bedouin warriors’ night vision, as well.

  All small things, but they were the edge MacKenzie planned to capitalize on.

  Carrying the AK-47 in front of her, Annja stayed to MacKenzie’s left as she crept down the incline. Although the day had been fiercely hot, the night had cooled considerably, dropping into the high fifties. The wind chill dropped that even further. Her boots crunched in the arid soil despite her attempts to remain silent.

  Thirty yards ahead of them, a Bedouin guard sat on a rock and stared out at the night, looking right at them. Except he couldn’t see them. Then, abruptly, his body language changed as he sat up straighter and took a new grip on his assault rifle.

  The earwig in Annja’s ear picked up MacKenzie’s quiet order. He had given her the device only moments ago and told her to stay off the frequency unless she needed him. None of the mercenaries talked, but Annja had heard a woman’s voice briefly acknowledge MacKenzie and inform him the operation was clear.

  Annja had been told the woman was “tech support.” It made sense that someone would need to manage the satellite uplink, but she couldn’t help wondering where the uplink was coming from.

  “Take the sentries down now,” MacKenzie repeated.

  Annja wanted to shut her eyes. It was one thing to respond in defense to violence, but it was another to know that it was coming, and that it was about to take the lives of unsuspecting victims. Not that these Bedouins were victims.

  The sniper in front of Annja suddenly dropped in his tracks as his head burst like a dropped pumpkin. A split second later, the harsh cracks of the sniper rifles rolled down the incline, but the bodies had already fallen, taken out before they heard the bullets that killed them.

  “All right, everybody dig in.” MacKenzie sounded calm as he took up position behind a rocky shelf. “Make your shots count.”

  Annja lay on her stomach as she pulled the AK-47 to her shoulder. She hated fighting this way. It was one thing to be in the heat of battle, but it was another to deliberately take out targets—people—from a distance. Tactically, it made sense, but it appalled her.

  You’re saving your friends.

  She followed a Bedouin running for cover, settled her sights over him and squeezed the trigger. The rifle bucked slightly against her shoulder. The bullet caught the Bedouin somewhere in the chest and spun him off balance, sprawling him to the ground.

  Inside the lean-to, David Smythe fell forward, his hands still bound behind him. Nadim lurched up, then quickly fell on Souad, covering the boy with his body.

  Unwilling to leave those people undefended, Annja took two more shots and put down a second man but missed a third. Then she got her feet under her and ran in a wide circle around the camp.

  MacKenzie’s voice popped into her head through the earwig. “Creed, what do you think you’re doing?”

  “Saving the people we came here to save.” Annja ran through the darkness as fast as she could.

  Curtain Bar

  K Street

  Washington, D.C.

  HENDRICKS STRUGGLED to keep track of all the movement on the large monitor, but in the end there was just too much happening. It was like that in battle. The red and blue figures, and the yellow hostages, moved too quickly for him to follow. He forced himself to take deep, slow breaths. He clenched his fists under the table.

  “What is she doing?” Sophie said in disbelief. “She’s going to get herself killed.”

  Suddenly, the image on the screen flickered and changed. The Bedouin camp shrank and immense darkness pooled around it as the view telescoped back.

  “There’s a bogey in the area,” the male tech said in a flat voice.

  “What bogey?” Sophie snapped.

  “An airplane has entered the encounter zone.”

  Even as Hendricks searched the monitor for an airplane, the craft lit up. The coloration changed to a uniform steel-gray that lifted the plane out of the night.

  “Do we know its origins?” Sophie continued attacking her tablet. She reached up and clicked the headset that hung in her ear, speaking rapidly in Russian, a language Hendricks was familiar with but not competent in.

  Shadows tumbled from the plane as it maintained a heading that would take it near the Bedouin camp. Parachutes. He leaned forward in his chair. “It’s Thabit.”

  Sophie swore in a handful of languages.

  “Thabit has access to these kinds of people and hardware?”

  Hendricks clenched his fists. “This is why we were after the man, Sophie. We don’t know everything he has. All we know is that he has a personal fortune and is tied to several Shiite movements.”

  Sophie grimaced. “Well, then, this little fishing expedition of yours is going to cost us more than we had anticipated. MacKenzie and his people might be able to handle the Bedouin, but not this.” She turned her attention to her headset. “Dove? We have a problem.”

  Paralyzed with helplessness, Hendricks felt his heart and his hopes sinking as quickly as the parachutists gliding toward the Bedouin camp. “Have MacKenzie get Annja Creed out of there. If we can hold on to her, we might still have something.”

  North of Marrakech

  Atlas Mountains

  Kingdom of Morocco

  THE ASSAULT RIFLE WEIGHED her down and Annja almost considered throwing it away as she ran. But then she’d be left defenseless. Except for the sword. And she didn’t want to show up to a gunfight with a sword unless she had to.

  She circled behind the lean-to, watching the Bedouins go down under the withering fire of MacKenzie and his troop. Bodies lay sprawled among the large tents while the combatants tried to hole up around natural defenses like boulders and low ridges.

  As Annja closed in, bullets ripped through the fabric and she hear someone cry out. Two Bedouin sprinted for the lean-to. Neither was Mustafa.

  One of MacKenzie’s people, a woman, ran toward them firing at another Bedouin behind a small rock pile on the other side of a fire pit. She didn’t see the two Bedouin running toward the lean-to until it was too late. They lifted their weapons.

  Knocked off balance by their bullets, the woman tried to find cover, but the Kevlar body armor only protected her to a point. She managed three steps, then collapsed.

  By that time, Annja had her rifle up and the first of the Bedouin in her sights. She stitched a handful of rounds across the man’s chest and he looked down at his body in surprise, as he fell.

  The other Bedouin managed to slide behind a hill. Annja fired a few rounds into the ground along the ridge to keep him pinned down as she raced for the back of the lean-to.

  Transferring her rifle to her left hand, she seized the sword out of the otherwhere and slashed vertically through the thick canvas. Another slash, this one horizontal at chin height, freed the canvas to fall in on itself as she released the sword.

  The darkness inside was splintered by the fires in the center of camp. David Smythe, Cory Burcell, the other graduate students and the khettara craftsmen lay on the ground. One of them held his hands to his wounded leg.

  Souad recognized their rescuer first. “Annja!” The boy tried to push up from the ground, but his father kept him down and growled a warning.

  A Bedoui
n appeared in the doorway and brought up his rifle. Annja managed to get her weapon up first and squeeze the trigger. The rounds froze the man in place, then he dropped.

  Annja stepped to one side of the opening and covered the front of the lean-to with her weapon. “Come on! Get out of there!”

  Nadim released his son and Souad bounded out, followed immediately by his father, who stepped on the slashed canvas and ripped it even further. The others poured from the structure, with Smythe and Cory Burcell bringing up the rear.

  “Where do we go?” Smythe asked.

  “Into the mountains. Anywhere away from here.” Annja fired again as two more Bedouin approached.

  Smythe got the graduate students moving.

  Cory paused at Annja’s side as she reloaded. “They’ve got Theresa.”

  “I know. I’ll get her.” Annja slammed a fresh magazine home.

  Cory shook his head. “We’ll get her.” He stayed low and ran parallel behind the row of Bedouin tents.

  Groaning as she watched her rescuees scatter, Annja glanced up at Smythe and saw that the group was getting away easily. No one had spotted them. She ran after Cory.

  Then she heard the woman’s voice again over the earwig. “Dove, we have a problem.”

  “What?” MacKenzie replied.

  “Airborne troops headed your way.”

  In disbelief, Annja looked up and almost tripped over loose rocks. She caught herself and kept moving. For a moment she didn’t see anything, then—only because the parachutes blotted out the stars behind them—she spotted the arrivals.

  She paused beside Cory at the back of the tent that housed the women.

  “Where’s your knife?” he asked.

  Annja bent as if she was picking something up from the ground, then pulled the sword from the otherwhere and slashed through the tent.

  Surprise filled Cory’s dust-covered and bruised face. “Where did you find that?”

  “On the ground.”